The Wastrel Prince Becomes Ruthless-Chapter 2

Chapter 2
A strange place he had never seen before. And in the mirror, an unfamiliar face that clearly showed confusion, reflecting Yuwon’s own.
The shock of the situation lasted only a moment.
Soon enough, Yuwon realized that while he didn’t know why such a thing had happened, he certainly knew what had.
‘Hah… Another world, in someone else’s body… The gods must be laughing. Or perhaps this is their decree—if I am so resentful, then live again?’
In truth, he didn’t care whether this was divine intervention or not. By the time such a thought crossed his mind, Yuwon was already busy pondering how he should live the second life he had been given.
‘A new life… A new life, huh… Feels like a lie.’
At the moment of death, what Yuwon had so desperately wished for was not revenge—but a new life.
To say he didn’t want revenge would be a lie. But what he had desired even more fervently was a new life he could live without regret.
With a faint, complex emotion, Yuwon brushed his left chest.
Thanks to the new body, the wound Tang Gye-ung had gouged into his chest was gone as if it had never been there, but the lesson left by that death remained carved deep within him.
The wound of betrayal—left by someone he had trusted completely—had seared itself into his soul, an injury that would never heal.
A life once content with merely surviving without rotting away had ended in ruin.
Unknowingly, Yuwon’s hand clenched into a tight fist.
‘There will be no more mistakes like that.’
The hunting dog, Tang Yuwon, was dead.
No greater shock could exist. The impact of death itself had completely overturned Yuwon.
Now that he clearly understood what he held in his hands, Yuwon’s will to live a new life blazed fiercely.
‘I don’t know why this happened, but I’ve regained this life with difficulty. This time, I’ll live—no, survive—so brilliantly that no one can ignore me.’
Though his heart burned hot, his mind cooled like frost. Passion was good, but what mattered more was a plan.
Blindly following boiling blood had never been Yuwon’s way.
‘First, I need to know exactly who the owner of this body was. That’s where it begins.’
Understanding the current situation—or rather, the situation of this body’s original owner, the Fifth Prince, Yurion Aphahiel—was his top priority.
His new life would begin from there.
‘Before anything else, I must know who I am now. Yurion—who are you? Tell me.’
Standing before the mirror, Yuwon closed his eyes and sank into deep meditation.
He surrendered himself to the flood of Yurion’s memories filling his mind.
Two hours later, Yuwon finally opened his eyes.
“What kind of garbage was this guy?”
The words escaped him, half in disbelief.
In Yurion’s memories, his past life remained as vivid as a painting.
It didn’t feel like his own memories, but more like a storybook—always there, waiting to be opened.
That much was good news for Yuwon.
The problem lay elsewhere.
‘The issue is that those memories are all rotten.’
The Fifth Prince, Yurion Aphahiel, who had given his body to Yuwon, was quite literally trash.
Not only was he frail and sickly in appearance, but his mental state was equally corrupted.
He frequented every pleasure district in the imperial capital as if they were his own home, preferring the company of back-alley thugs over that of his royal kin. He was the imperial family’s outcast child.
Known throughout the continent as a hopeless degenerate, Yurion was also the dark underworld’s biggest benefactor—single-handedly sustaining the capital’s drug trade.
‘And this “sickly” bastard was drinking and taking drugs the whole time… What a convenient illness.’
At least he hadn’t indulged in women too much, wary of the Emperor’s eyes—small mercy though it was.
Of course, he hadn’t always been like this. As a child, Yurion had been frail in body but gentle in spirit.
However, after losing his mother at the age of ten, he began to suffer from an unknown illness.
The black hair that once resembled his father’s had turned completely white around that time, as though proof of his waning vitality. His already thin frame became unnaturally gaunt.
And without any clear diagnosis, he suffered from agonizing pain that struck three or four times a week, as if his body were being torn apart.
They say a healthy body houses a healthy mind. But plagued by this inexplicable chronic pain, Yurion’s spirit slowly festered—until it became something twisted and cruel.
As Yurion’s words and fists grew more violent, the people around him left, one by one.
A degenerate born from the noble bloodline of the White Lion—what better gossip could people ask for?
It took less than five years for these tales to spread across the empire and the continent beyond.
The stories became so notorious that even street children could recite tales of the drunken, drug-addled Fifth Prince.
Yurion himself could not have been ignorant of the rumors.
Yuwon recalled one of his nicknames as he browsed through Yurion’s memories.
‘“The White Dog of the White Lion House,” huh…’
Among all of Yurion’s infamous nicknames, the most popular had been White Dog—a name that sounded polite, but really meant bastard.
Yuwon frowned slightly upon realizing Yurion’s situation.
‘No… my situation now, I suppose.’
Then, as if amused, he let a small smile form.
‘Hah… Still, this is better than my past life—when I didn’t even know who my mother was. The liar Tang Seogyeom’s son has become the Emperor’s son. That alone makes this a fine starting point.’
A wastrel prince was still a prince!
Compared to his previous life, this was a vast improvement. Yuwon was confident he could thrive in such a new environment.
He clenched his fist tightly, as if to make a vow.
‘Yurion Aphahiel… I don’t know how I came to possess your body, and frankly, I don’t care to find out. I can’t even apologize—it’s not as though I asked for this. But I promise you one thing. With this body, I’ll live—no, survive—as long and as ruthlessly as I can.’
Yuwon’s fierce instinct for survival ignited within him.
The blue eyes of Yurion Aphahiel, once murky with vice, now shone with a sharp, bright light.
It didn’t take long for Yuwon to act next.
He had already absorbed Yurion’s memories completely, and his plan for a new life was set. There was no reason to hesitate.
‘Sitting idle is for fools. I will take control.’
His eyes gleamed as he called to the attendant standing outside the door.
“You there.”
“Y–Yes! Your Highness!”
A young maid who had been waiting outside hurriedly entered, bowing low.
“Your Highness, you’ve finally awakened! Are you feeling well? Shall I prepare your meal immediately? Or perhaps a bath first? Please command me, and I shall obey.”
Whatever she said didn’t matter. Yuwon began speaking according to his plan.
“What day is it today?”
“…Pardon?”
Startled by the unexpected question, the maid blinked.
As if he had anticipated her confusion, Yuwon recited his prepared line.
“I lost consciousness… and now that I’ve woken, my memories are hazy. I can recall little. Only that this is the imperial palace, and that I am a prince… Beyond that, everything is blurred…”
Even the trailing tone was flawless acting.
Yuwon had played his first move—the guise of amnesia.
It was a trick he’d devised after skimming Yurion’s memories, and the maid’s flustered “you’ve finally awakened” had confirmed it as the perfect opportunity.
In truth, Yuwon remembered everything in perfect detail, even memories Yurion himself had likely forgotten—infant memories included.
‘No need to take unnecessary risks. I’ll use whatever I can.’
The Aphahiel family, rulers of the Empire and bearers of the White Lion’s blood—Yurion might have inherited the lion’s blood, but one thing was certain: Yuwon was no lion.
‘I am a serpent.’
He still had no intention of avoiding conflict in this life. But that didn’t mean he would rush in without preparation.
In this new life, his goal was simple— to correct the wrong choices of his past and live without shame in the next.
He had no intention of throwing away all the strengths from his previous life, nor of barking madly at anyone like a rabid dog.
‘If I did that, I wouldn’t live long enough to die of old age.’
A viper did not rule the jungle, yet it was strong.
Even the beasts that ruled the jungle dared not touch a snake bearing venom.
A viper never struck unless it could crush its prey’s windpipe in a single blow.
Yuwon was a viper.
The attendant, momentarily taken aback, cautiously asked again, watching Yuwon’s expression.
“Did you say… amnesia, Your Highness?”
It had already seemed strange that the prince—who had only just awakened from his coma—had not once shouted or demanded alcohol or drugs as usual. But now amnesia?
The look of shock on the attendant’s face was unmistakable.
“Yes.”
Even if Yuwon carried all of Yurion’s memories, the spirit that now inhabited the body was different.
No matter how perceptive Yuwon was, he could not completely conceal that long, telltale shadow.
And if he wished to graduate from the wastrel life Yurion had lived for half his existence, there was no better way.
That was why Yuwon had made his move early.
“Tell me everything you know about me. It may help restore my memory.”
“Ah… then I shall tell Your Highness everything I know. Unless there’s something specific you wish to ask about…”
As with all beginnings, fastening the first button correctly was of utmost importance.
In that sense, this beginning was off to an excellent start.
The card Yuwon had played—amnesia—would buy him valuable time while he prepared to live as Yurion.
During that time, Yuwon’s top priority was to fully blend into the role of Yurion Aphahiel.
‘No, I want more than that. I’ll be better than the damned wastrel they called the White Dog.’
Tang Yuwon, the illegitimate son of the Sichuan Tang Clan, resolved to live as the wastrel prince, Yurion Aphahiel.
About three or four hours after Yuwon had taken Yurion’s body, the sun had set and evening arrived.
Knock, knock, knock—
“Your Highness, I came running when I heard you had skipped your meal today.”
It was not the voice of the young maid who had so diligently played along with his act of amnesia. It was a voice he had never heard before—thick and somewhat unpleasant.
“It has been fifteen days since you fell unconscious. You must eat something, Your Highness.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Marcellus, Your Highness.”
Yuwon searched Yurion’s memories for the name.
‘Chief Attendant Marcellus.’
Unlike the common attendants who handled menial chores, Marcellus held a different position—he was the chief attendant of the Fifth Prince’s palace.
Those who bore that title were no ordinary servants.
The chief attendants serving within the princes’ palaces were people who personally attended the imperial bloodline.
The title of “attendant” belied the influence their station held.
‘Now that I think about it… it has been quite a while since this body last ate.’
Yuwon himself was hungry. Though he had ignored the attendants’ urging to eat so he could make the most of his time, he was now reaching his limit.
“Enter.”
At Yuwon’s command, Marcellus waddled into the bedchamber.
‘He looks like a toad.’
The man’s round face and bulky body, swaying as he walked, made him resemble a toad. Once that thought occurred, even his gait looked comically clumsy.
Marcellus bowed deeply before Yuwon.
“Your Highness, I should have visited the moment I heard you had awakened, but since no one was allowed to enter, I waited until you called. Ah, and I also heard that you’ve been feeling some memory loss. That’s understandable, yes indeed, after being unconscious for fifteen days. You’ll be fine soon enough. For now, please eat something to regain your strength—”
Yuwon raised a hand.
“Enough.”
The shrill, androgynous voice of the chief attendant grated on his ears; he could not listen any longer.
“That’s enough. Bring the meal. I am hungry.”
Though Yurion’s soul was gone, the natural air of dignity that emanated from his body remained that of a prince.
Such things could not be learned—they were inherited, carried in the blood of the royal line.
The princely grace that had vanished during Yurion’s years as a wastrel now began to shine through.
It didn’t suit the notorious Fifth Prince at all, but there was no flaw in the bearing Yuwon exuded.
Marcellus’s eyes flickered briefly with surprise at the change.
“Y-Yes, Your Highness. As for the meal… Ah, your stomach might be shocked if you eat too heavily. Would you prefer something light?”
“Prepare whatever you see fit.”
Yuwon waved his hand dismissively, finding the servant’s excessive bowing distasteful.
‘A typical sycophant. Best not to keep him close.’
Marcellus’s tone, his mannerisms, and Yuwon’s sharp instinct all told him to stay away from the man.
Something about him stirred instinctive aversion.
“Y-Yes, yes. I shall bring your meal immediately.”
Ten minutes after the portly attendant waddled away, the meal—prepared in advance once word spread that the prince had awakened—was brought in, still warm.
Dinner was a simple yet savory soup, fragrant and mild.
It looked easy enough to digest at a glance—an appropriate meal for someone recovering from a long illness.
“I wanted to prepare something finer, but I focused on dishes that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Even if it doesn’t suit your taste, please consider your health…”
“I understand. You may go now.”
Marcellus blinked his toad-like eyes in surprise at Yuwon’s docile response.
‘What is this? So the amnesia wasn’t just an excuse?’
He had already sensed something strange about the prince’s demeanor.
Now, suspicion solidified into certainty.
‘No, something’s off here…’
If this had been the real Fifth Prince, he would have flipped the table the instant he saw wine missing from his meal.
In fact, another setting—complete with wine—waited ready behind the door, just in case.
The chief attendant hadn’t earned his position through luck. Though momentarily thrown off by the prince’s unexpected composure, Marcellus quickly regained his calm.
“Ah, yes! Of course. Once you finish eating, please summon the servants to clear the table.”
“What, do you think I’ve forgotten even that because of my amnesia? Don’t worry about me. Go. I wish to dine in peace.”
It was an unmistakable dismissal.
“Yes, Your Highness. Then may you have a peaceful night. This humble one will take his leave.”
With that, the bothersome servant finally withdrew, and Yuwon could at last eat in peace.
A simple yet neat table setting.
Chicken broth soup with shredded meat, onions, and carrots—a perfect first meal for someone who hadn’t eaten in days.
‘Smells good, looks decent. I’m hungry anyway—let’s see how the first meal of my new life tastes…’
With anticipation, Yuwon brought a spoonful to his lips. The steam curled up warmly from the spoon.
Just as it neared his mouth—
“Hm?”
A faint yet familiar scent brushed the tip of his nose. Something he knew all too well.
He carefully dipped his fingertip into the soup and brought it closer to his nose.
‘Poison?’
He hadn’t expected to encounter it here.
Poison.
Someone had dared to lace the prince’s food with poison. This was no small matter. Yet Yuwon only chuckled softly.
‘Ha, interesting.’
With a faint smile, Yuwon continued eating as though the poison meant nothing.
The poisoned soup entered his mouth.
“Tastes good.”
The Sichuan Tang Clan—renowned for its mastery of poison and hidden weapons. Yuwon had lived his entire life in its shadow.
And now someone had dared to poison him.
Gulp—
He swallowed another spoonful of the tainted soup, savoring both the warmth of the broth sliding down his throat and the subtle tingle of the hidden toxin.
It didn’t actually sting—he only felt it because he knew it was there.
Slowly savoring the flavor, Yuwon smiled faintly.
This was no longer the amused smile from before, when he’d simply found it absurd that someone had poisoned a prince’s meal.
‘Whether in this world or the last, people never change. How amusing.’
What a venomous twist of fate— the ill-starred genius of the Sichuan Tang Clan had met poison once again.
Not as a bastard, but as a prince.